Until Then
by Chicleeblair
Summary: She never thought that she would be returning there, doesn't want to return there. Not for this. But she's still the glue, after all.


The gravel in the parking lot crunched under her boots as she slammed the car door shut She had never thought that she would be coming back here after her mother died. It was a good distance from the townhouse, closer to Derek's land. The path was not one that she crossed from day to day. Yet, the drive had become familiar again, and the staff had not forgotten her name.

She went around the car to open the back door and the boy tumbled out, a bsll of contained energy that sometimes she managed to keep up with. "We goin' in Mama?" he asked, looking up at her with bright blue eyes.

Her hand rested atop the blond head for just a moment. "Of course, baby. Here let me fix your coat." She crouched to straighten the blue quilted jacket and tugged up the Mickey Mouse zipper-pull. "There we go."

She smiled and the little boy grinned, revealing rows of baby teeth that had just finished growing in.

"Ready?" she held out her hand and he took it.

As they walked through the parking lot she held onto him tightly. His tiny feet were not steady on the rolling rocks that coated the ground. Several of the cars they passed were familiar. The mother and son were running late, often a side effect of mixing a surgical career with a child.

She had not wanted this trek to feel normal. After all of the urgent treatments had been over and the recovery period had slipped by, a mother had asked her where her own mother had lived for those last years. The name had just slipped out, without giving her time to think about the ramifications. She blamed on the brain cells that had been killed by the child living inside of her and knew that she would have to break her vow never to set foot in the place again.

"Auntie car!" the little boy sang out as they passed a small red car.

"Yes," she said. "That's right."

She had refused to go without her, at first. When they were together it was as if he recognized them. At least, his eyes tracked them and his lips curved up. Pithy recognition, really, from someone who had once lit up at the sight of her.

The condition of going only when accompanied by her roommate had kept her away for several weeks. They had moved him and focus had been shifted to another recovery. Strength was regained in inching increments, like the frog in the well of a word-problem. She had been the one to stay by the bedside almost more than the husband of their patient. She had lost one of her best friends and she was not going to lose another. They might have forgotten that she was usually the one with the plan to get them out of crises, but she had not

The first time that they had stepped through the facility's doors together, Izzie had leaned on her arm, even though she was smaller and had once been weaker. They lingered in the doorway to the bedroom and stared for a full minute, with no motivation to go into the sterile room.

But then, without speaking, they had approached opposite sides of the bed and climbed on, sandwiching him. Izzie had spoke first, detailing her recovery. She had revealed the news that a doctor had given her that morning. All three had stared at the ceiling and for just a moment they could pretend that they were interns again and life was only hard, not devastating.

Time eventually necessitated that she go on her own if she ever wanted to see him. Izzie was allowed to go back to work while Meredith's leave time was increased. She sat by the bedside and read parenting books, reading the most absurd passages aloud to the still room. As the baby grew inside of her, she was forced to admit that she was hoping when everyone told her not to do so.

Months passed, and one day she realized that she was the only one going, or at least with any regularity. Therapists came and went, and sometimes she saw Izzie's baskets of baked goods, left more for his family than him, but she was the only name on the register three times a week. Except his mother's, of course.

So, she had gone into the locker room on her first day back from maternity leave, and she had yelled. They had ignored him when he was well and look where that got them. Somehow amidst all the fear and loss they had forgotten that they were a family, hadn't they? That was where this gathering had started. She still came three times a week, but all of them congregated once a month, at least. It kept them glued together when every possible adhesive remover had been applied.

"Mama, I the leader!"

Her mind crawled back to the moment at hand. The child had disengaged himself from her hand and was walking through the sitting room. She paused to write both of their names on the ledger and then followed him to the group of people sitting on couches. The white mug and saucer looked absurd in Alex's large hand, but he held it, hunched forward on his chair. Izzie sat next to him, her hand gently rubbing his shoulder.

"Auntie Lexie!" the boy cried, jumping up into her arms. She picked him up and smiled at him, a wistful look on her face.

Meredith knew its origins, and would talk to her sister later. She and Mark could try again, but she knew that Lexie's heart was broken. The others had been reticent to let her sister into these gatherings, but Meredith had yelled over that too. When none of them had seen him, Lexie had.

"Well, Bambi, we're all here," Cristina said when Meredith sat down on the sofa. It surprised her that Cristina had been the first to agree to these evenings. One afternoon when they lay in an on-call room, Meredith on the lower bunk, resting a hand on her swelling abdomen, Cristina had murmured, "It's so strange without O'Malley," into the darkness. Nothing else was said, because nothing had to be.

Meredith took one of George's hands in hers. There was no reassuring return squeeze. She looked around her at the sedate circle, remembering the times that they had all sat in hysterics around a lunch table. Where had those days gone? Why had fate thought it so necessary to intercede?

It was going to be up to her to break the ice this time. "Callum, come here," she said.

He squirmed down out of Lexie's arms and crawled up onto his mother's lap. "Tell Uncle George what you told me about monkeys."

"Um…they swing in trees and eat bugs off each other!"

"Does that mean you eat bugs?" Alex asked. "Because you're definitely a monkey."

Callum's blue eyes grew wide. "I don't do that! I eat people foods!"

They all laughed, and Izzie started to talk about a patient who had had pica. They relaxed, slowly; laughing and eventually throwing couch pillows at each other. Callum grew tired and laid his head against her chest. She stroked his hair and looked down at him. His thumb was in his mouth as he watched George.

She had wondered if it would be okay, psychologically, for him to spend so much time with an uncle who never looked back, but it never fazed him. "I got your name, Uncle George," he whispered. "Callum George Shepherd."

"Do you know why that's your name?" she asked.

"Because Uncle George was brave and loyal and smart and they're all good things to be."

"That's right," she murmured, kissing the top of his head. "And we forgot that. So that's why we come here."

_It may be too late, _she thought as they all trudged into the parking lot to make the short drive to her house, where Mark and Derek would make dinner. Callum would be put to bed and they would drink to George. _But if he's in there somewhere, he needs that we're sorry_.

She would keep apologizing until he heard.


End file.
